The Blue Wedding
by EverandeverGreen
Summary: Thrawn is tasked with finding the Empire's celebrity It Girl Druscillia Tarkin, after her disappearance in Wild Space. When he and Vanto discover her secret alter ego is the notorious singer Drew Blood—a traitor wanted for releasing songs like, 'Impalepetine' and 'Kill a Stormtrooper'—it only further complicates the case. UNDERGOING REWRITES :/
1. Chapter One

**Author's Note**

Like I said in the author's note of _The Nightswan,_ I came to realize that there was a structural problem with this story in which I should have used Druscillia being Drew Blood as the lure and not a twist. There are tried and true formulas when writing a mystery and I shouldn't have experimented with them the way I did because it effed up the pacing of the story. I don't really care how many times I have to rip this story up to get it right, I am not one to stop trying. I know it's better to write a story in its entirety before posting but I have always lived dangerously. Besides, all these errors and rewrites are just helping me hone my writing skills. Third time's the charm as they say.

To Chromotaphobe: Thank you for getting it.

To all you patient readers sticking around: You are the icing on the cake.

This story follows canon timeline and I will keep the plot as close to the Thrawn book as I can. I will also incorporate some aspects of Legends. I do suggest you listen to the audio book version of Thrawn, read by Marc Thompson. It is frigging fantastic, and honestly, it's what made me literally fall in love with Thrawn in the first place. He nailed each and every character's voice. It's absolute perfection and inspired me to write this story.

I changed the name of the story to Ingress because there is a new Thrawn story on Ao3 I like called Perhaps (You should check it out) and I actually feel this title fits my story better.

* * *

 **Chapter one**

It would be accurate to call Thrawn a creature of habit. His days consistently began the same—with the making of his bed. He was always meticulous in his execution, careful to ensure the sheets were smoothed and tucked into tight hospital corners, and his pillow placed perfectly centered above the four-inch fold of his blanket.

After washing his body with a mild cleanser, he would use the necessary moisturizer to protect his smooth skin from whatever climate he was in, then would garb himself in the regulation Gaberwool uniform of his station; this consisted of a double-breasted olive tunic, matching trousers, and some sturdy black boots whose shine nearly outmatched his sleek indigo hair.

Nearly four standard years had passed since his liberation from exile, and yet it felt like only yesterday he was brought before the Emperor, with his greasy long hair and wearing furs covered in the elements.

His confidence had never wavered, not once since the beginning of his mission, and it was that faith in himself which had made infiltrating the Galactic Empire a success.

Thrawn had yet to decide whether or not the Imperials were suitable allies for the Chiss, or if they would be better utilized as a sacrifice to weaken the scourges of the Dark Regions, thereby granting his people more time to build up their defenses. There was much to consider and so many variables to weigh out before reaching a satisfying conclusion.

Take Nightswan for example— the criminal mastermind he had been hunting for the better part of two years. The lengths in which the man went to steal Doonium from the Empire was great in scope. And Thrawn knew his motives could be the missing link to the great question, that burning question that kept him awake in his cabin, long after lights out: _what was the Empire doing with its ever-growing horde of the precious metal?_

Thrawn had an inkling but an inkling was far from certainty, and he had to be certain. For if his suspicions were correct, what would it mean for his people? And what would he be forced to do in order to protect them?

He thought of this as he and his aide, Ensign Vanto, boarded the light cruiser that was set to take them to the Federal district on Coruscant, and when he strapped himself into his seat, another question came to mind, w _hat does high command want with me now?_

 **...**

"Do you know what this is about, sir?" Vanto murmured, as a group of senior officers filed into the room and took their appointed seats.

"No, but I find it interesting that you were also summoned," Thrawn said, out of the corner of his mouth. "Try to read their faces."

His own eyes lingered on the last man to file into the room.

Grand Moff Tarkin, a man who needed no introduction.

Thrawn recalled his meeting with Arihnda Pryce at the Gilroy Plaza Diner several months prior, when he had effectively disguised himself to look every bit like the Pantoran many mistook him for. She was being extorted by Moff Ghadi at the time and wished to solicit his support. The two of them conspired long under a dim light; surrounded by the aroma of fried meat and caf.

He quieted his thoughts and straightened up even further when the admiral in the center of the procession rose to her feet.

"We are met this morning," she began, in a long carrying voice, "to pay special honor to two of our own. Never before has any officer of the Imperial Navy achieved such success in so short a time.

"It is therefore with great pleasure that this board confers upon Commander Thrawn the rank of Commodore. Congratulations, Commodore Thrawn."

"Thank you, Ma'am," he said, accepting his new insignia plaque. He cast his gaze sideways to Vanto, who by the looks of it was engaged in some internal conflict within himself. Clearly he was not listening, not fully at least; the admiral had said they were paying honor to two, not one.

Envy was a debilitating emotion, but he would not fault his aide for this weakness; his promotion was long overdue. Ensign Vanto's talent for identifying and tracking shipping and supplies was most essential to Thrawn's success in quelling the work of smugglers and pirates — and yet it was for this reason Moff Ghadi found it necessary to punish him. But Moff Ghadi was no more.

And so, he waited.

"It is also an honor and privilege," Admiral Speck went on, "for the board to rectify a situation that has too long been allowed to stand. It is therefore with equal pleasure that this board confers upon Ensign Eli Vanto the rank of Lieutenant Commander, Congratulations Lieutenant Commander Vanto." This time the admiral extended to Vanto his new insignia plaque.

"Congratulations," Thrawn said, after the admiral shook Vanto's hand and took a step back.

"Th- thank you, sir," Vanto breathed.

"Your loftier ranks will bestow upon you new posts. Commodore Thrawn, you will now be a captain of the Imperial Star Destroyer _Chimaera_. Lieutenant Commander Vanto, you too will be given a command station aboard the ISD _Chimaera_. May success be ever in your favor."

A few more words of ceremonial nature were said that Thrawn doubted Vanto heard any of. The now Commodore bit the inside of his cheek; his aide's quiet excitement was… infectious.

"Congratulations, Commodore." Grand Moff Tarkin nodded his approval to him. "And to you Lieutenant Commander," he added to Vanto.

"Thank you, Your Excellency," Thrawn and Eli said in unison.

"A fine ceremony," Tarkin continued, "Govenor Arindha Pryce sends her regards and her own congratulations."

"I wondered if she might," Thrawn said. "She is well I trust?"

"Quite well," Tarkin said. "Eagerly preparing to take on her new post."

"I am pleased that things have worked out for her."

"As am I." he reached forward and touched the new commodore's insignia plaque on Thrawn's chest. "Consider this a bonus, and also a token of my faith in your abilities to carry out this next task."

Thrawn's head cocked to the side, his interest rapidly piqued. The room was now empty, save for the three of them, and there was something suddenly different in the way the Grand Moff held himself. A vulnerability that rounded his proud and bony shoulders in defeat.

"Two weeks ago, my daughter traveled to Wild Space. She wanted to try something new for her 24th birthday." _His eyes move from me and settle onto Vanto, his tone holds... accusation?_

"Go on," Thrawn urged him.

Tarkin cleared his throat and walked towards the window overlooking the galleria below. _His fist clenches, unclenches, and then clenches once more behind his back._ "There has been no word from her. She was to land on Agaris five days ago but she has not."

Thrawn's lips pursed in thought. "Is it like Dru to deviate from a plan and not mention it to anyone, and is it unusual for her to fail at maintaining communication with you?"

 _The Grand Moff turns fully towards me, his eyes narrow in manufactured wariness._ "Dru," he said coolly, "I was unaware you were on such intimate terms."

Vanto shifted on the spot and Thrawn spared him a glance _. His entire body seems to hold great trepidation, he swallows hard, and there is a tightening in the column of his throat, as well as a heightened inferred glow to his cheeks and forehead._

Thrawn hid a smirk. Of course the Grand Moff was aware of the time he had spent with his daughter and so he made it no secret, he referred to the Lady by the pet name she so often tried to force on him; he had nothing to hide. With Druscillia missing they would have entertained the idea that he was in some way connected.

This was more than just an assigning, he was a suspect.

"Your daughter and I met at the Motti Gallery several times. She shares my enthusiasm for art." he confessed.

"I should have known," Tarkin said. _The coolness in his tone warms a degree but his brow is still knotted in suspicion._

"She did not mention your friendship, but that is not entirely unexpected; she doesn't say much to me these days." _He lifts his hand and brushes away lint from his lapel that is not there._ "Tell me, Commodore, did you know of her plan to visit Wild Space?"

"She mentioned a weariness of her routine life and a need for flight, to see new horizons, in new worlds. Lady Druscillia has never been to Wild Space. I think that is what held a certain allure to her."

"And you educated her of the dangers out there I hope?" Tarkin asked, with that chill creeping back into his voice.

"Of course," He said politely.

Tarkin held Thrawn's gaze for a moment longer and then sighed. "My apologies, Commodore. I am under a great deal of stress as of late and I am not fully myself. It is not your fault Druscillia has a penchant towards recklessness and abandon." The latter was said through gritted teeth.

Thrawn had gathered as much, after the first time he spoke with her.

 **...**

Druscillia's mother's family owned the Motti Gallery, the largest and grandest gallery of the core planets. Her uncle, Brutlicus Motti was the chief curator there and she worked at the Ministry of Information just next door. Thrawn often saw her at the gallery and around the district, plastered on propaganda and perfume advertisements.

Once he saw her giving a tour to Spenc Orbar, a cadet he had the misfortune of spending four months with at the Royal Academy. He was not certain if she held the same views against non-humans as the young sub-lieutenant, but he had not thought it prudent to willfully get himself in a situation to find out — her being the daughter of such a high-ranking official after all.

And so, he had given her a wide berth.

But one day while he studied a spectacular piece of work by Krillin Gabcheek, Druscillia came and stood beside him. Her face was turned up at the large and magnificent portrait, but she watched him from out of the corner of her eye instead, admiring him the way he was the painting.

The first thing she ever said to him was, "Why Gabcheek? We have plenty of non-human art here."

Thrawn uncrossed one of his arms from the other and brought his index and middle finger to rest against his chin, his eyes not wavering from the flat. "Can I not appreciate human art the way I would that of another species?" he asked drily.

"Yes, of course, that's not what I meant!" She had the decency to look embarrassed.

He cocked his head to the side and studied her. Lady Druscillia at the time was dressed in a pristine white jumpsuit, with black detailing around the breasts, and fluttery pant-legs that had slits up the sides to show off her legs. Her brown hair was gathered in an elaborate braid that crowned her head and ended in a large and elegant knot on the side of her neck. She looked every bit as haughty as she probably felt.

"What did you mean then?"

"Human art leaves a lot to be desired, that is, compared to the work of some of the other sentient species we have here at the Motti Gallery," she explained. "Take Gaisan for instance, a Twi'lek painter who creates the most out of the box abstract art in the galaxy. I absolutely adore her!"

Her answer had surprised him, though looking back he realized it should not have. "I too enjoy Gaisan's work. Very much in fact," he said, turning fully towards her. "You are Lady Druscillia."

"I am." She folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips, waiting, for what? He did not know.

"I saw your ballet performance on the last Empire Day here in the theater," Thrawn said.

She unfolded her arms and lowered her defenses again. "Oh, and what did you think of it?"

"It was the loveliest thing I have seen since leaving Chiss space."

To her credit, she kept her blush short.

"Ballet holds a similarity to a dance practiced by the most disciplined of my people." He went on.

"What is it called?" She asked.

"Pruen'tcia."

"Pru- aintka," she repeated. "So, you are that Chiss Captain everyone is talking about."

As he expected, she thoroughly butchered the pronunciation of Pruen'tcia. Most humans lacked the vocal means to speak proper Cheunh because they did not use their vocal-chords to their full potential. Hoping she was one of the few capable of such a feat, he gave her his full name, along with a polite dip of his head. "My name is Mitth'raw'nuruodo."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mith- Mith thrawn new ru odo," she shifted uncomfortably on the spot.

Thrawn's lip curled in a slight wince. He usually didn't bother correcting those who failed at pronouncing his true name; he was perfectly happy to be referred to by its core, but he found himself wanting to hear Druscillia Tarkin say it properly — talented ballerina that she was. "Mitth-'"

She smiled gratefully and repeated after him. "Mitth-'"

"Raw-'" His voice raised in pitch here.

"Raw-'" Hers did not.

"Nuruodo," Thrawn finished.

"Newruodo."

"Nuruodo," he repeated, slower this time.

"Noo-roo-o-do," she looked up hopefully. "So, it's Mith'thraw'nurodo?"

"Close. But you… never mind, I did not expect you to vocalize every pitch and pause properly upon first hearing it. You may call me by my core name instead. Thrawn."

"I am sorry," she said, fidgeting with a strip of jewels around her wrist.

"There is no need to apologize, Your Ladyship, " he said.

They held each others' gaze for a moment. He could tell she was perturbed by his glowing red eyes, but her posture and blue eyes lacked any trace of malice or the other by-products of fear and ignorance.

"Come this way, I want to show you something." She turned and beckoned him after her.

"We have no Chiss art here, which is unfortunate because I would love to see more of your people's art and learn more of your culture."

"More?" Thrawn had raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Are you saying you have seen Chiss art before?"

Druscillia stopped walking and turned towards him, a proud smile on her face. "Only one piece, a sculpture called _The Frulo'goyalin_ , have you heard of it?"

Thrawn let out a short bout of laughter, the unexpected sound vibrating through the silence of the corridor. He collected himself at once, holding his fingertips to his lips and smoothing away the smile there. "I think you are referring to the renowned piece called Kam'ah Fruallagoila, Cheunh for 'falling sky'. It was lost long ago. You said, Frulo'goyalin which is Cheunh for… Cheunh for a male's reproductive organ."

"I did not!" She hid her face in her hand, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

"You did, but it was a valiant effort. You are the first human I have heard use my tongue in a very long time. Too long, it seems."

"Speaking of long," she said sobering again, "a four-syllable word to name your cocks with? You Chiss males are either well endowed or you are all overcompensating for your small ships." She used her index finger and thumb to illustrate her point.

There were actually six syllables, when it was pronounced properly. "Some of us are and some of us are not," Thrawn had said rather blandly, though he could feel his face burn purple.

"This way." Sniggering, she took out a key card and opened a door with the words 'do not enter' on the front.

He followed her through to a small chamber, crammed from floor to ceiling with art. He walked in between the rows of flats, sculptures, textiles and pottery, taking it all in and cataloguing what he saw in the deep recesses of his mind. He could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move, and could not help but feel like prey.

"The Chiss sculpture is not here of course, we do not own it or have the rights to have it at our gallery, but I thought you might like to see some of the rejects my uncle feels is not worthy for the floor." She gestured to the door over her shoulder.

"I am very skeptical that the sculpture you saw was the authentic Kam'ah Fruallgoila, but I would still like to see it one day. Even a counterfeit can have tremendous value."

"What sort of value?" she asked, coming up behind him.

"The value of information," Thrawn said, squatting before a very large and ancient looking vase. "I can learn the forger's skill, their perspective of the artist, I can learn their motive for the lie by the care put into the forgery, and I can also learn the morals, standards, and wealth of the proprietor of the falsified work."

"I see," Druscillia said. "Well, I'm not surprised you can see all that."

"No?"

"When you said you liked Gaisan's work, I knew there was more to you than met the eye. Not many appreciate abstract art the way they should, and even those who do can not tolerate someone as unconventional as Gaisan."

"Beauty comes in many forms, Your Ladyship," he said politely, standing up and turning to face her. "I thank you for showing me these. Your uncle would do well finding a place on the floor for the Pantoran pottery. They are really quite breathtaking."

They went back to the main room.

"Please tell me you will be on Coruscant for a while, I'd love to pick that brain of yours some more."

"I have five more days here before I am to return to my duties in space." Thrawn told her.

She looked him up and down. "Do you always wear your uniform, even on leave?"

"I am on lunch reprieve, actually."

"So, you are working here on Coruscant?" She sounded curious, but her expression showed no hint of wonderment, Thrawn concluded that she was aware in some way of his purpose in the city or she was merely learning how he told truths, half truths, and how he told lies.

"From time to time," he said, with a casual roll of his hand.

"Where?"

"You ask many questions, Lady Druscillia."

"Am I out of line?"

Thrawn shrugged. "Not yet. But I am intrigued by your curiosity of me."

"Why? I told you I would like to learn of Chiss art and culture and you may be the only Chiss I will ever meet. Your people aren't exactly social."

"I said I am intrigued by it, not that I am unaware of its origins."

"Oh."

"Yes."

She looked away from his eyes and bit her lip, considering the meaning of his words. "In any case," she began, shaking her head as though to clear it. "I already know you're working with the Emperor. Many do. A lot of people are talking about it."

"Positively, I hope," he said, his small smile growing.

"What do you think?"

Thrawn could think of a few things. It was no secret many did not approve of him. He expected nothing less, of course; the case would be the same if a human were in Chiss territory. Many were rudimentary and vain when it came to their actual standing in the grand scheme of things.

"Many in high command do not approve of my methods," he said after some time.

Her smile was as microscopic as his but after a moment she burst out laughing, taking a brazen step forward closer to him. They were nearly eye to eye because of her impractically high heels. "You don't care at all, do you?"

It was then he had sensed something in her, a sort of eagerness to share in a potential conspiracy.

"Not even a little," he said stoically.

"Good," She watched him a moment longer then added, "I must be on my way, Mith'raw'noorodo, but I would like to see you again, if that is alright."

"I plan on returning tomorrow when I am off duty. I will be here at 1700 hours."

"What luck, I will be here then as well," She flashed him a dazzling grin then turned to leave. He watched her go, heard the tapping of her heels clicking on the marble floors even as she disappeared around a corner.

After that meeting Thrawn had a feeling his mission was about to become more complicated than it already was.

 **...**

The Grand Moff's blue eyes bored into his. Unlike Druscillia, whose blue eyes were warm and expressive, his were cold and calculating.

"A dead son, and now my daughter in the hands of pirates. Stars knows what they must be doing to her."

"She would make a valuable hostage; there is a good chance she is being treated with dignity and care," Thrawn said.

"These are savages we speak of, worse than resistance fighters, but I will hope for their sake that she is," Tarkin said darkly. "You are from the Unknown Regions, Commodore, and you, Lieutenant Commander, are from Wild Space. Your talents have gotten you this far in the Navy; I could think of no one better outside of family to recruit in the search."

"Why are you certain your daughter was taken by pirates?" Thrawn asked.

"Who else do you have in mind?"

"A man of your status surely has a number of enemies, Your Excellency, Moff Ghadi perhaps?" Thrawn said.

"Moff Ghadi," Tarkin scoffed twice. "He would not dare. He is a fool, not suicidal. Besides, what could he hope to gain from abducting my daughter?"

"The chance to watch you suffer. You did put an end to his career."

"A bit obvious, do you not agree?" Tarkin said. "Had this happened years down the line from now I would be inclined to agree, but he is already under investigation. He would not dare risk such a bold move."

"You may be giving Moff Ghadi more credit than he deserves," Thrawn said.

A rare smile moved the Grand Moff's lips. "A mistake many of my colleagues have made over the years as well," he said. "Very well, Commodore, follow whatever leads you deem appropriate. Come to me for any resources you need made available to you. My nephew Admiral Motti is also leading a search." Tarkin handed Thrawn a data card. "You will find information regarding the ongoing investigation on that."

"Thank you, Your Excellency," he said, pocketing it.

Tarkin nodded. "Now, there is the matter of your discretion. If this is a ploy to distract me, weaken me, or worse yet challenge my charges against Moff Ghadi, I am relying on secrecy to keep this contained."

"I understand, Your Excellency."

"And you?" Tarkin said, looking over Thrawn's shoulder at Vanto.

"I understand, Your Excellency," Vanto parroted back, albeit more nervously than Thrawn did.

"Very good. Now, you two have enemies of the Empire to catch. Happy hunting." And with that he turned to go, leaving Thrawn and Vanto alone to discuss their thoughts on the matter.

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading, more chapters are on the way. But first tell me, how amazing would Matt Smith (Prince Phillip from the Crown and also Dr. Who) be at playing Thrawn. If you agree let me know in your comments about the story so far, if not who do you think would play a good Thrawn?


	2. Chapter Two

_**Chapter Two**_

 _It is not a matter of arrogance to have pride in one's abilities; a warrior must be aware of their strengths in order to overcome their weaknesses. Only when a warrior truly comprehends the depths of their flaws can they ever hope to rectify them._

 _A weakness can stem from a number of things: an experience gone awry— leaving deep scars in the mind or body, it can be an object one cannot fully function with or without, or a habit one cannot seem to break, but when a warrior's weakness happens to be a person, it is important for them to learn the strengths and weaknesses of this individual. And if the warrior finds their weakness's failings are more of a detriment than their abilities are an asset, then the warrior must do everything in their power to overcome the need of that person._

 _Druscillia Tarkin's strength is in her aptitude to inspire or corrupt, and her weakness is a love of vice and pleasure. I have yet to determine whether or not this is a detriment to me, or a gift I can utilize for our mutual benefit._

 **…**

Thrawn paced the floor of his cabin with an envelope of photographs in hand. He was aware that if anyone were to get their hands on these particular photographs, they would have leverage over him and a tactical advantage he did not yet have the cards to defeat. And even if he did, _there is no such thing as a guaranteed winning hand._

This was a lesson he taught Spenc Orbar and Rosita Turuy four years ago at the Royal Imperial Academy on Coruscant, when his fellow cadets had made an attempt to trap him and Vanto in an illegal card game in the metallurgy lab— little did they know then that he had a weapon hidden in his breast pocket: a lieutenant's plaque.

He sat down and pushed the memory from his mind and instead pulled the stack of photos from inside the envelope.

There she was: Druscillia, all bent over a desk with her back arched, legs spread and holding a thin pointer at both ends beneath her gluteus. He found satisfaction in how the metal pushed against the crevice beneath her buttocks and how her skin poured over it.

He remembered the attempt he had made in his mind to fight the desire to take these photos, there were plenty of good reasons for him to refuse, but with the opportunity given so willingly he had thought, why not take advantage? He had wanted to, _"feel art"_ as she so enticingly put it. In the end he could not refuse.

For the next photo he helped her contort herself so that she was bent over double, with the back of her head nearly touching the back of her thighs. She had actually bent over backwards for him.

Was it any wonder that she was his weakness?

Pity the background was white; her skin tone made her almost disappear in the photograph.

The third and fourth were portraits, in one she smiled warmly, in the other, she stood by a window with her face shadowed against the light. She was somehow able to channel both immeasurable aloofness and a promise that she was his. He pocketed the two portraits just as his cabin door opened up behind him.

"Sorry to disturb you sir." It was Lieutenant Commander Vanto. "But our transport is ready."

Thrawn stood and slipped the rest of the photographs back in their envelope; he would throw them into an incineration shoot on the way to the hangar bay.

 **…**

The Motti family of Phelarion was an extremely ancient and wealthy clan that influenced trade and commerce for much of the Outer Rim. Merged to their wealth and prestige through marriage was the Tarkin family of Eriadu, whose vast network and military influence secured unlimited power for both families, stretching from the furthest reaches of the Empire and rooting itself deep into the Core.

The Quintad was a dynasty made of five powerful families, who hailed from Eriadu and ruled large portions of the Outer Rim with a plastoid fist.

The Tarkins were the most influential of these families. They controlled the Outland Regions Security Force, a brutal militia once comprised solely of a large unit of Eriaduan loyalists, whose purpose was to defend the Seswenna Sector against invasion and pirate activity.

Now their numbers had swelled with mercenaries, who held contracts with the Imperial Navy and acted on the whim of Grand Moff Tarkin. They moved about the Outer Rim, unchecked and collected enemies.

Thrawn and Vanto's shuttle landed on Phelarion and a transport took them to outside the large gates of the Motti estate. Their boots crunched on the peat stone walkway as they made their way up hill to the palace.

"Is there a problem, Vanto?"

Vanto's lips were pursed into a straight line.

"Not really," he said shortly.

At Thrawn's silence he added, "It's only, you know, with all of the poverty and suffering in the galaxy, I can't help but wonder if all of this really necessary." _He gestures to our surroundings with a toss of his head._

"Many centuries of hard work brought all this beauty about," Thrawn said with his eyes roaming the landscape. Thin white trees and saplings grew in impeccably straight-lines on the property and countless statues were placed along the paved walkway.

"I know, I'm only saying some have a little more than what seems decent."

They passed a large statue of a Melodie spouting water from her mouth. Her fishtail was made from kelsh, but after years of oxidation the copper colour was now a dull shade of green, her humanlike face, torso and arms were made of precious chromium, and the overly large breasts were leafed with a purple colored alloy. As for the waist length hair— the solid gold glinted in the sun.

Standing in the shadow of the palace was Grand Moff Tarkin and his wife Lady Thalassa Tarkin. The woman was well formed, generous of flesh and wore her hair in an elaborate pile of silver streaked dark curls. Druscillia's mother.

"Greetings, Commodore Thrawn, Lieutenant Commander Vanto," said Tarkin once they reached him. "Welcome to Phelarion."

"Thank you, Your Excellency," said Thrawn, bowing his head.

"Your Excellency," said Vanto.

"My wife, Lady Tarkin." He gestured lazily the woman beside him.

"Commodore Thrawn, we meet at last," she said, stepping forward and holding out her hand. "My husband tells me you are the best candidate to aide our search. I trust utterly in my husband's judgement—do not fail us."

Thrawn took Thalassa's offered hand and planted a kiss on her knuckles. "I will not, Your Ladyship," he said.

She moved away from him to stand in front of Vanto. "And you are the one Moff Ghadi tried so very hard to ruin. Greetings, Lieutenant Commander Vanto."

Vanto straightened his back. "Greetings, Your Ladyship," he said.

"A boy from Wild Space, tough and resilient, no doubt. Look at you now, an officer of the Imperial Navy. Yes, yes, I can see it now, Wilhuff. These two will do nicely indeed. Ah, here comes my nephew Conan."

 _A fair-haired man descends the stairs, he is quick of step, his boots click against the stone and his eyes find mine, they narrow in contempt._

Thrawn released the admiral of his gaze and turned back to Grand Moff Tarkin. "I would like to begin my investigation in your daughter's quarters."

"I do not know what you hope to find in there that I have not put on that datacard." _Admiral Motti's tone is sneering, he takes the place to Tarkin's left, his chest is turned so that it is facing directly to mine, his hands open and close into tight fists at his sides._

"The information on that datacard is insufficient for a search of this magnitude, sir," Thrawn said. "It was very nearly a waste of my time."

"Oh? And do tell what it is I am missing, Commodore Thrawn?" _Every syllable of Motti's words drip with poisonous nectar._

"Conan," Thalassa began in a firm voice. "I want you to put your vanity aside for the duration of this investigation, so that we may get Druscillia home safely."

"It is not my vanity that should be called into question, aunt." He _says this to her, but his eyes remain fixed on me._ "My father Brutlicus, told me you often visited the gallery on Coruscant and you spent a good deal of time there with Druscillia. To me, that raises some questions."

"Do allow us to hear your thoughts, sir," Thrawn suggested.

"About this they are simple; you started following Druscillia around and then not long after that she goes missing. It is suspicious."

"You wish to know the purpose of my engagements with your cousin." Thrawn's voice was soft and considerate, and his expression as mild as ever.

"Yes, I do. You did spend an indecent amount of time unaccompanied with her."

"Unaccompanied and under the roof of your family's establishment, where she was safe and could be accounted for," Thrawn said. "Once I find her, the two of you can discuss any further concerns you may have. As for now, time is of the essence."

"That is exactly what I wish to hear, Commodore. Conan, _silence!"_ Tarkin's tone was at first clipped and perhaps even approving, then it changed into an ice-cold snap, the ominous hiss of the word _silence_ remained in the air. Tarkin's eyes found Motti's and the two of them held the others gaze. After a moment, Motti averted his and hunched his shoulders.

"We will begin our investigation in her sleeping quarters," Thrawn said.

"Very good, Commodore, Lieutenant Commander— take your time," Tarkin said. "Conan, with me. Thalassa?"

"Yes, I will show them the way," she replied. "Do follow me Commodore Thrawn, Lieutenant Commander Vanto."

 **…**

Druscillia's room was pink– the walls, the bed spread, the mountain of pillows adorning her bed, the cushion of the window seat, even the flowers of the many plants– all were different shades of pink. The furnishings themselves were a pristine white and the floors a highly polished white stone.

There was a coldness to the surroundings, an air of neglect that filled the room like smoke. Even from the doorway, Thrawn saw a light coating of dust covering the furniture.

"What are we looking for?" Vanto asked him.

"Evidence of misdeeds." Thrawn opened a drawer and began rifling through it.

Vanto snorted loud enough to be heard from across the room. "I'm sure we'll find something then."

"You do not like Lady Druscillia," he said, looking up from the drawer (which turned out to be dedicated entirely to different perfumes.)

"It's not that I don't like her, sir, I don't know her. It's just—" _he frowns and looks around the room in his search for the right words._ "She's… a little bit sketchy is all."

"Sketchy?"

"You know, something is off… I've heard of some of her antics in the press."

Thrawn made a noise of acknowledgement. Vanto had expressed his concern about the woman ever since first learning they were in communication with each other. It was right after they had completed their assignment in Umbaran territory that the young human had cornered him with a warning…

 _ **"What would happen to a Chiss if they decided to date someone of another species?" He had asked.**_

 _ **"Date. I know this word, but I do not understand how it is appropriate in this phrase," Thrawn had replied.**_

 _ **Vanto sighed patiently. "You know, like fall in love or something along those lines?"**_

 _ **"Such a thing has never been done before to my knowledge. If it has, no Chiss has spoken of it."**_

 _ **"Well, it happens here sometimes, and it doesn't always end well. It certainly won't end well when the human in question happens to be a Core celebrity and comes the families that she does. I suggest you end it, sir, or you will both run into some serious trouble down the line."**_

 _ **"What are you insinuating, Ensign?" Thrawn had asked.**_

 _ **"Nothing, I'm only putting it out there."**_

 _ **"You suggested I end it. End what exactly? The Lady Druscillia and I share an interest in art. Nothing more."**_

 _ **"Oh, good. That's good then." Vanto had looked relieved, but there was an edge to it...**_

"What do you think so far?" Thrawn asked of his aide.

"I'm wondering if anything Lady Tarkin told us is real," Vanto said. "You know, about Druscillia being a good daughter, who spends most of her free time here with the family." _He snorts and looks around carefully._ "This room doesn't look like it's really being lived in. Few 24-year-old women would want a room like this; it's childish. Kinda reminds me of my sister Kyla's room when she was around ten."

"It does appear to be a shrine to her youth." Thrawn picked up a holocube from one of the dressers and turned it on. The hologram turned out to be a recording of a her as a child, nuzzling the scales of an Akk dog and laughing. He watched for a moment with his head cocked to the side and face bathed in light. He looked up and saw that Vanto was watching him closely in the reflection of the mirror.

He turned the holocube off and straightened up.

"You don't think she was taken by pirates, do you sir?"

"I am not certain," he said. "What I am certain of, however, is that the information on the datacards I was given does not delve deeply enough into her lifestyle. Her uncle and cousin interviewed several people who know her, but only the ones she sees during the light of day—her fellow dancers, her colleagues at the Ministry of Information, friends of the family. And the questions are all trivial in nature."

"They have to be, in order to keep the nature of the investigation a secret," _Vanto disapproves of this, it is revealed in the pronouncement of his sneer._

"I am also not sure how comfortable her peers are opening up to the likes of Gideon Tarkin and Conan Motti," Thrawn added.

"Yes, I can imagine that being intimidating for a civilian."

"It is who she becomes in the shadows that will lead us to her." Thrawn rested his chin on his fist. "I am looking for something that could get me through that door."

"Like what?"

Thrawn stopped in front of a large painting and stared at its signature.

"Inspiration," he said at last.

"Sir?"

"This is an original Oila Gaisan painting."

"Okay."

"Everyone knows that Oila Gaisan does not give her paintings to just anyone." He wondered just what Druscillia had done to earn one of these highly sought-after pieces.

"Gaisan… Gaisan…" _Vanto's brow furrows in thought._ "Why does that name sound so familiar to me?"

"I went to the Gaisan art show last year, do you remember?"

"Right," he said.

"Druscillia was there as well, 2500 levels under the Federal District, in the _Uscru Entertainment District_ , at a place called _The Burrowing Pit_. I was surprised to see she was friendly with a lot of the locals. Some of which I could tell on sight held anti-Imperial sentiments."

"Do you think her parents know about these other friends?"

"I do not," he said. "There is an innocence to the Lady that is glaringly insincere, I doubt her family is completely blind to this, but I do not think they see far beyond the facade."

"How far past it do you see, sir?" _Vanto raises his eyebrows in accusation._

"Far enough."

"Care to elaborate?"

"There are obvious signs of indocility," Thrawn began. "The outfits she chooses to wear lack the modesty shared by those of her station, her finding ways to avoid using her guards, and her relentless pursuit of her baser urges. She has two personas that I am aware of— Lady Druscillia Tarkin, a respected ballerina whose perfection and beauty is used to recruit soldiers into the Empire's fold, and Dru, one who…" He trailed off. "Why are you looking at me like that, Vanto?"

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Have I ever required anything less?"

He took a deep breath and said, "I do not believe the only thing between you and the Lady is a shared interest in art. And I'm worried whatever that something is will destroy both our careers."

"Was it not you who warned me against such pursuits?"

"Well, yeah, but you've been known to do things the way you see fit, regardless of what anyone says."

"I am an officer of the Imperial Navy, not the infatuate of a pampered socialite."

"I'm glad to hear it, sir."

"I would not be where I am today if I had the inability to take good advice."

Vanto frowned. "You're in exile."

Thrawn looked at him for a moment before he allowed a smile to stretch his lips thin, then without saying a word he began making his way around the room again.

"What do you make of this?" Thrawn held up a small metal sphere that fit snugly in the palm of his hand and peered closely at it.

"I have no idea what that is." Vanto said.

"There are engravings in Botha, all over it" he said softly.

"A Bothan Trickbox?"

"Indeed. I believe that is exactly what it is."

"How did Admiral Motti miss it?"

"Perhaps he could not solve it and his pride got the better of him."

"A small price to pay, the life of a family member for your pride." _Vanto's tone is sardonic._ "Druscillia could be dead and preserved in the crater of some moon. And if she isn't, it may only be a matter of time before she is."

Thrawn continued to inspect the device.

"Can you read Botha?" Vanto asked.

"I am not fluent, but that won't be an issue, I can always translate the message after I decode it, using the Imperial language converter program."

"That's true."

"The markings should reveal clues on how to open it. See how some layers of the sphere twist while others do not? And there are divots to press… but in what order?"

Vanto inched closer for a better look.

"For me to decipher the instructions, I must first figure out the column lengths, by dividing the message length by the key length. Fortunately, even Bothan code follows a distinct algorithm and this particular one is rather simple compared to a lot of their work."

"Still, this can take a while."

"Unfortunately, yes," Thrawn said. "Hand me your datapad."

Vanto was about to comply, he reached into his breast pocket when a drawling voice taunted them from the door.

"You will never be able to open it unless you know the way."

Thrawn turned and regarded a young boy who stood and watched them by the open door.

"You are the ones looking for Dru, aren't you?" _The boy inches further into the room. He has bags beneath his eyes and is sickly pale. Sleep eludes him. His cheeks are bony and sharp, possibly from stress-induced malnourishment._

"Uh, yes, that's right," Vanto said, nodding.

"My father says Hutts probably have her." _He shudders visibly, truly haunted by the thought._

"Your father can't possibly know that," Vanto said in a reassuring manner.

"I read that Hutts eat people."

"You are Bento Motti," Thrawn said, before Vanto had to make comment on that.

"Yes."

"Druscillia had told me a bit about you in the past. You are seven, enjoy caring for her Akk dogs and wish to one day become a pilot. She said the two of you are close."

"Yes, we are and I can open that," he said pointing to the Bothan Trickbox. "She showed me how, only she made me promise not to show anyone, but..." _he hesitates, his gaze roves the ground as he considers whether or not the situation calls for broken oaths._

"What we may need to find your second cousin could be in this device," Thrawn said. "If you stand idle and she winds up getting killed, then her blood will be on your hands."

Bento looked up at him with both his eyes and mouth wide. Vanto rushed forward.

"What the Commodore meant to say is, it's important we see what's inside, in case it can help us find out where Druscillia is. Will you help us?"

"I do not want Dru to get eaten."

"Neither do I," Thrawn said, handing him the Bothan Trickbox. "She will forgive you once she is made to understand we thought only of her safety."

The boy turned so they couldn't watch him open it. When he turned back again, the sphere was deconstructed in one of his hands, and in the other he held out a large golden sprocket.

"Its her treasure box key."

"Where is the treasure box?" Vanto asked, looking around the large room.

Bento shrugged. "She only said what it is, not where it goes."

"Hand it over," Thrawn said, holding out his hand.

Thrawn held the sprocket up for Vanto to see. The hole in the middle was in the shape of a triangle, and surrounding it were three ornate holes.

"You better put it back when you're finished, or she will have your head when she gets home."

"Thank you, Bento," Thrawn said.

"Bento!" A plooriod III servant droid tottered into the room. "You are not supposed to be in the West Wing," it said. "Our guests are to be undisturbed."

"But I was helping Commodore Thrawn!" he snapped.

"Out!"

The droid ushered Bento from the room, closing the door behind them.

"Help me move the bed," Thrawn said, once they left.

Together they pushed the bed toward the wall, revealing an indent in the floor that appeared to be the perfect fit for the golden sprocket.

Thrawn squatted down and placed it in, twisting it until he could no longer. The mechanism clicked repeatedly before the floor slid open to reveal a narrow stairwell leading down to a dark crawlspace.

"That was lucky," Vanto said.

"Luck had nothing to do with it. This palace long predates the Imperial Era back to a time when war between the Jedi and Sith was at its peak. Spaces like these were often made in the floors for security purposes; many of them lead to tunnels off the property. I am told those were very dark days in this part of the galaxy."

Vanto took out his data pad, activated its flashlight mode and shone it down the hole.

Thrawn went down first and Vanto followed with the light. They saw there were dozens of outfits hung up, all tailored to fit Druscillia's toned body. Costumes.

Vanto held one up by the hanger. It looked just like one of the uniforms they wore on the field, except this one held an admiral's insignia plaque fixed to the chest of the tunic and the material appeared to be made entirely from a greyish green latex. "What is happening right now?" he asked, hanging the outfit back up and rubbing his hands against his trousers.

"What do you mean?" Thrawn picked up a jar that read,

 _ **Second Skin Colour Crystals**_

 _ **Carotenoid RED 6**_

And said, "We have found our first clue."

* * *

 ** _Author's Note_**

 _I trimmed a lot of fat, turned an Eli POV chapter into Thrawn's POV and merged that to another chapter. Editing really is the hardest part of writing. Having to let go of your pride, admit something is shit and delete all that stuff you once thought was good. Yeesh! I loved every bloody second of it though._

 _See ya soon for chapter 3 of_ _The Nightswan_ _._

 _I'm going to actually show you guys the photo-shoot and not just tell you about it. I'll try to not make it too graphic—unless you want me to— in which case, let me know in the comments._

 _Thanks for reading._


End file.
